


Empty Vessel

by hellkitty



Category: Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: M/M, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-18
Updated: 2011-07-18
Packaged: 2017-10-21 19:29:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/228908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellkitty/pseuds/hellkitty





	Empty Vessel

_  
**Empty Vessel**   
_   


NC-17  
IDW Megatron Origin…ish?  
Megatron/Deadlock  
Sticky, sizekink, some dom/sub, and bizarre non-fanon sticky, possible consent issue  
A/N:

A few months ago, y’all might remember there was this lolsticky haetfest going on? Now, I write sticky (NO!!!!!) and I admit it’s…goofy as hell.Dude. Robot porn =/= srs bsns.But anyway, got me to dredge up an ooooold idea I’d had when I first entered fandom, about, well, transfluid.Because, let’s face it, the robo-jizz is hard to explain. Especially for people like me who are yay sticky, boo mechpreg.

ANYWAY (God no more nutella fueled author’s notes for me!) , one of my three cracktastical ideas was that, of course, transfluid is simply a ‘wet’ way of storing data. I’ve read pnp where the transfer is of data, so…why not, right? Who says data only has to be electrical or analogous to how our computers currently work?

AND, of course, there are implications. A bonded pair of mechs, who share evenly (both spiking each other) would swap data enough so that they really would become, in a sense, very, very close, almost literally ‘one’ with the other. Sharing memories, sharing histories, and abilities and moods.And also, if it’s unbalanced, one mech can use this idea, of spiking to imprint his memories/personality/etc onto another mech through repeated interfacings.

ADD TO THAT the fanon commonplace that Megatron (more commonly than Optimus) interfaces with his subordinates for loyalty.

AND GO. If the fic seems a bit exposition-heavy, I’m trying to explain the mechanism of how this works to someone NOT in my brain.

ETA: I'm not saying I originated this? But I've not seen the pieces put together quite this way before. That said, if this tickles your fancy, borrow away! I would like to have a link to your fic, though to see what awesomeness you've come up with.

 

Thanks to (person who probably doesn’t want to be recognized) for encouraging me to write this.

 

 

“Deadlock.” Megatron’s voice, a distinctive boom, cut through the din of the practice range. Weapons lowered across the line, mechs turning to look at the huge mech, whom some were styling a ‘warlord’, framed in the entrance to the underground chamber.

Deadlock kept firing, optics hard and intent down his lane, the sharp pops of the practice rounds beating a steady rhythm.

Megatron smiled—as he did, one half of the mouth curling upward, as though smiles were feints.Insubordination? Perhaps. But perhaps Deadlock was one of those rare mechs capable of that single-minded focus, deaf to any distractions.

If the former, he needed this as a palliative. If the latter, all the more reason to tie him to Megatron personally.Megatron stalked behind the smaller mech, until his shadow fell over the white helm.The shoulders twitched, as though his shadow had presence and weight, the gun lowering carefully. Even distracted, the mech knew better than to point a weapon at Megatron.

Many new mechs didn’t, and learned the hard way.

“Come with me,” Megatron said, simply. Halfway between an order and a request. He turned sharply, heading for the exit.If Deadlock followed, he had his answer.

Deadlock did: Megatron could hear the smaller footfalls behind him, the strides faster than his, struggling to keep up with him.Deadlock said nothing, simply falling into step, one pace behind, one pace to the left.As though he were Megatron’s bodyguard.Megatron allowed himself an amused snort, proceeding through the twisting corridors to the room he had claimed as his own.

He turned, a quick move he used in the arena, whirling on one heel to round on Deadlock.Deadlock twitched, hand flinching over the holstered gun. Reflexes, good. And control, better.  


Deadlock was…small.It was easy to forget watching him in the practice range, but here, within arm’s reach, even the tip of his helm finial didn’t reach Megatron’s shoulder.“Deadlock,” Megatron said.

The orange-red optics blazed like lambent fire.Megatron had given him the name, the first gift, the first promise of a new life. “Yes.”Simply that, waiting. No fear, no apprehension.Just…waiting.

The others.The others had wanted this. Starscream had practically pawed him the moment the door shut behind them.Soundwave, even, had known what was coming, opening himself up to it.But Deadlock merely stood, still, as if it were entirely beyond the reality that he knew that Megatron would want to interface with him.

Perhaps it was.

But it needed to be done, and Megatron would admit, to himself at least, that Deadlock’s quiet, ruthless competence did appeal to him. In a different way than Starscream’s sharp, ever-twisting wit, perhaps, but the attraction was there.

And Deadlock was here, standing, waiting, closed off. No bridge to assault him over.

Megatron did not need bridges.He swept forward, jerking Deadlock’s frame toward him, lowering his head to the smaller mech’s to crush into a kiss.Deadlock thrashed, for a moment and Megatron felt the hard bar of a forearm against his throat. Ruthless reflex. Killer’s instincts.Megatron’s engines rumbled a deeper arousal.

The forearm’s pressure let off, and Megatron felt the fingers grab instead at his collar armor, the mouth parting under his assault, glossa sparring with his even as he stood, lifting the smaller mech’s feet clear of the floor, frame crushed against him.Deadlock’s other hand dug, clawed, around Megatron’s chassis, one leg twining around Megatron’s thigh as the larger mech turned, dropping them both upon the rough berth.

The impact broke the kiss and Megatron could see Deadlock’s optics, red and intense, flicking down over his frame, the mouth in an uncertain snarl. Megatron loomed over him, covering the smaller mech entirely, bracing on one palm as his other snapped open his, then Deadlock’s, interface hatches.Deadlock jolted at the touch, biting off a cry.

“Mine,” Megatron said, voice chalky, edges roughened by lust. “Body and spark.”

Deadlock’s face twitched, unreadable, but he tipped back, parting his thighs. Not inviting, but accepting. Accepting the logic, accepting the event.

Megatron rocked back, nosing his spike in the valve. Deadlock was…small, and it took a moment for the calipers to cycle up, out of the way, the lining gripping snugly against the spike as Megatron pushed in. Fighting him all the way even while assenting. Megatron felt a rare, genuine smile, cross his mouthplates, sinking his spike through Deadlock’s resistance, hitching forward to seat his spike entirely in the narrow space, the metal rim grating against the base of his spike.Deadlock’s chassis heaved under him, trying to grow accustomed to the presence inside him.He growled up at Megatron, optics flaring, one heel pushing into the berth, tipping the valve against his spike as his hands grabbed for the dark hips.

Megatron snorted, amused, aroused.Giving him a hint?He caught Deadlock’s wrists, one by one, pinning them over the smaller mech’s head with one spread palm, as he began thrusting against the smaller body.Deadlock writhed underneath him, the hands clutching around his palm, making a wild long cry punctuated by Megatron’s hard thrusts.The valve grabbed at him, fighting, struggling, as if it knew nothing else. He bent, taking those struggling fingers in his mouth, nipping and licking along the digits, his hips driving hard enough to jolt Deadlock’s frame with every thrust as the charge built between them. He could taste the discharge of the practice rounds on the fingers, and the smell of combat and the rising friction heat between them fired his own sensornet into high arousal.  


Deadlock howled as the overload hit, hot transfluid spilling down from Megatron’s spike, flooding the tight space, white helm clanging hard against the berth as he flung his head back in a paroxysm of something like ecstasy.

Megatron lifted his head, releasing the small black digit from between his dentae. Something was wrong. Something felt wrong.He looked down.

Deadlock hadn’t….

He growled.“You didn’t open your dataport.”

For the first time, the hard look fell from Deadlock’s face, a glimpse of what Drift might have been: startled, hurt, the fringes of his ecstasy shredding into failure.“I…?”

And it struck Megatron: he didn’t know.Deadlock had crawled from the gutters, a perfect example of the Cybertron Megatron wanted to build, the citizens who deserved life.But he knew nothing. No education to speak of, beyond the gun, beyond the groundfighting, beyond what Megatron and his forces had taught him. A completely empty vessel.

“When you interface with me,” he said, jerking his spike out of the valve, one large hand covering the small, dark hip, “you open your dataport.You understand?” He sent the unlock protocols in a tight burst at Deadlock, hooking the hand under the hip, flipping the smaller mech over, hauling the hips against him, dragging Deadlock up onto his knees. His other hand pinned Deadlock’s shoulders flat on the berth, one gold cheekflare against his fingers.

He stabbed his spike into the valve, ferocious, determined to get the point across. “You understand?” he repeated.

Deadlock cried out, sharp with pain, one hand clawing under his belly, the other trying to push up, fight Megatron’s weight off his shoulders. “Yes,” he gasped.

Megatron felt the difference this time, the subtle change at the ceiling of the valve, the wetware port spiraled open.He gave a low rumble of acknowledgment.This wasn’t subservience, not the way Starscream would bend to his will, eager to please, but a kind of hard obedience, one will recognizing another, and another's superiority.

And Deadlock’s confusion…he didn’t know.And that meant this was possibly the first time he’d ever had this.Megatron gave a soft snort. A virgin, in a sense.All the better. All the more receptive Deadlock’s systems would be to the data he’d flood through the chamber in his transfluid.

He kept the posture, keeping Deadlock pinned, letting the humiliation in the pose—aft thrust in the air, shoulders flat on the berth—serve as a lesson, a reminder for the smaller mech.Pleasure, pain, elevation, humiliation—all came from Megatron’s hand. Megatron had to admit that the posture was…enticing: Another mech trapped, pinned, yet still fighting, the silver flash of his spike plunging into the dark valve, smeared and seeping with his own fluid. Wasted fluid, streaking down the dark thighs . Like fighting in the Arena, minus the death.Yet keeping the complete, utter domination.

He roared, the sound filling the small room, the overload tearing through him. Fluid rushed, hot and stinging sharp, this time neatly caught in the wet data port.The valve reacted, calipers rolling up the spike, neatly milking the last of the fluid, capturing it, synchronized. Not like before, erratic, clutching.

Deadlock shuddered against him, the overload fighting with the burn of humiliation and the sudden rush of data slamming through his firewalls. Each time, he’d get more of Megatron: more of his history, his violence, his tactics.The best, the oldest way to ensure loyalty from one's subordinates, one that Megatron himself hadn’t known about until Soundwave had murmured the secret to him, a way to vent his aggression, to bind his closest mechs more closely, intimacy beyond the mere act.

Megatron pulled out, gently this time, a hand wrapping around the belly, pulling Deadlock’s backframe against him as he lowered to his side. Deadlock’s gyros fired unstably, unable to find balance.“Lie still,” he said, his voice almost gentle.  He remembered all too clearly, suddenly, his own first time, how the data had overwhelmed him, etching across his own cortex. “The vertigo will pass.”

A sound that tried to be a growl from Deadlock, one hand clutching weakly at Megatron’s wrist, though to pull it away or closer…Megatron didn’t expect Deadlock even knew. “It will make you hard,” he whispered. “It will make you better.”

The white helm nodded, unevenly, the back frame loosening against his, letting himself be held.

It will make you _mine_.

 


End file.
